


The Limerick Game

by Bofur1, Majesticone



Series: Company Drama Trauma [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Fluff and Humor, Limericks, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 16:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majesticone/pseuds/Majesticone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Company decides to make Thorin mad with limericks that tease him. It's all in good fun, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Limerick Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Majesticone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majesticone/gifts).



> I dedicate this work to my co-author, my Uncle T. (aka Majesticone). He wrote most of this and made me laugh. :)

Thorin grumbled under his breath. “I’m tired of this,” he said to himself. “Very, very, tired.”

The entire company except for Thorin had been going on this weird obsession with limericks. All day long all he heard were variations of annoying poetry. And every poem made fun of him.

Fili stumbled into the room, laughing. “Uncle Thorin!” he giggled.

“No. I don’t want to hear it,” Thorin nearly shouted.

“Just listen. Balin made this up. It goes:

 

_"I once knew an old Dwarf named Thorin._

_He didn’t know it, but he was quite borin’._

_He mouthed off so much_

_That he just missed his lunch_

_And I gave all his food to Óin .”_

 

Fili burst out laughing.

Thorin growled at his nephew. “'Lunch' and 'much' don't even rhyme! And neither do 'Óin' and 'Thorin'!"

Fili was rolling on the ground. “It’s called 'slant rhyme'!” he managed to choke out.

Thorin growled again. Then Kíli burst into the room. “I don’t want to hear it,” sighed Thorin. “I really, really don’t.”

“But I wrote this one!” gasped Kíli. “Listen:

 

_"There was once an old Dwarven king_

_Who thought very much he could sing._

_He hit a high note_

_Which ruined his throat—”_

 

“ **I will break your head, Kíli!** ” yelled Thorin.  “ **I will break all of your heads!** ”

“No, wait,” laughed Kíli.  “Wait.  The last line—“

“ **No.**   **Go to your room, Kíli, and take your brother with you!!!** ”  Thorin shook his head.  What in the name of Mahal had become of the Company?

 

“ _And the war bells of Dale then did ring_!” he heard Fili and Kíli scream in unison.

“ **I have a rhyme for you!** ” shouted Thorin, rushing after them. 

 

“ _I once knew a couple of kids_

_Who just wouldn’t shut up their lids._

_I chased them away, and then I did say—_ ”

 

He was interrupted by Bofur, who was stumbling after him and laughing.  “'The war bells of Dale'!” he choked.  “Oh, my Lord Mahal!”

Thorin, too angry to say anything, gave Bofur a withering glare.  The Dwarf only laughed harder.

“I made up one just now,” Bofur proclaimed, snickering. “It goes like this:

 

_"There once was an old Dwarven lord_

_Who tried one time to carry a sword._

_He swung it round once_

_And then, oh the dunce,_

_His head was all broken and sore_.”

 

“I have one,” answered Thorin through clenched teeth,  “about **you**. It says:

 

_"There once was a young Dwarvish miner_

_Who thought he had good one-liners._

_He didn’t, in fact,_

_They were broken and un-intact._

 

And...and I can’t think of anything more to say except that you annoy me and I really want to swear but Dís would kill me for saying it in front of the two little kids who won’t shut their lids.”

 

Bofur stared at him.  “Wow,” he said.  “Three words: **Pa-the-tic**. Is **un-intact** even a word?”

Thorin glared at him.  “I will break your head.”

Bofur laughed.  “And is that the best you can think up?” he chuckled.

Thorin sputtered many useless syllables, clenching his fists in anger. He couldn’t believe the insolence of these three! How dare they insult him like this?!

Kíli poked his head out of his room one last time, a huge smile on his face.

“ **No, Kíli! Don’t even say it!** ” Thorin roared.

Kíli was laughing so hard tears were coming to his eyes. Nonetheless he shrieked:

 

“ _There once was an old Dwarven chief_

_Who found that he had smelly feet!_

_He picked roses that day,_

_And made a sachet—_ ”

 

“ **SACHETS ARE FOR WOMEN, YOU FOOL!!!!** ” Thorin bellowed, outraged. His blood boiled when he saw Bofur collapsed on the floor, cracking up.

At that moment, Dwalin opened his door down the hall. “What’s happening out here?” he growled.

 _Finally, somebody rational,_ Thorin thought to himself, breathing a sigh of relief.

“We...we’re makin’...” Bofur could barely choke the words out. “...l-lim...”

“ **Limericks!** ” Fíli and Kíli chorused together.

“And they’re all making fun of me,” Thorin moaned miserably.

Dwalin nodded in understanding. “Ah. Well...” Thorin expected Dwalin to have some kind of scolding for Bofur and his nephews, but out came something completely shocking.

 

_“There once was an old Dwarven dictator_

_Who decided to be a limerick-hater._

_He screamed and he roared_

_And he threatened the sword._

_But he only received laughs from his baiters.”_

 

Thorin gaped in utter disbelief at his straight-faced cousin. Dwalin too had been corrupted...how could it have happened?

“So, Thorin, if you could please keep down the noise, I'm trying to sleep.” Dwalin smiled serenely and turned on his heel, quietly closing his door behind him.

Fíli, Kíli, and Bofur all looked from each other, to Thorin. Then, deciding to ignore Dwalin's request for quiet, they all screamed in simultaneous glee.

Thorin pressed his hands to his temples and groaned. A severe migraine was coming on...

 

 


End file.
